Every Sunday,
after lunch, Donald Wickens called at 211 Albert Road for Miss Hattie.
It had become such a tradition that today she was sitting by the
window with her hat already on, awaiting him when the clock struck
three. She played distractedly with a wisp of tawny hair that refused
to stay in its place, as she watched out the window for him.

She pretended to
read her youngest sisters new book  a Beatrix Potter 
but couldnt really absorb the tale of the kitten that was almost
turned into a roly poly pudding.When
she finally spotted Don walking jauntily along towards the jewellers,
only propriety stopped her from flying to the door to greet him. After
paying his respects to her parents and siblings, he offered her his
elbow and they set off along the road.
He waited until they had passed the Wish Place junction until he spoke.
"Where are we going today?"
"Where would you like to go?"
He considered. They had so many outings. They could go to Southsea common,
or walk along the Clarence Esplanade or Pier. They could take the Tram
to Fratton, or wander the markets on Commercial Road or take a stroll
around St Johns Cathedral. They could amble over to Old Portsmouth,
and sit in St Georges square, or visit the Dockyards. She smiled
up at him, politely waiting. "Lets go to the Aviary,"
he finally said. There was time to get there and back comfortably before
tea.

And so, her arm through his, they walked towards Victoria Park. They
talked about such things as a jewellers daughter and a butchers
son would, and in no time found they had walked past the place where
Elm Grove became Kings Road. He was pleasant company, and looked
very dashing in a blue coat that offset his eyes, with the sun bringing
out the blonde in his hair. He always took time on Saturday evening
to scrub the blood out from under his fingernails after he finished
helping his father in the shop. he didn't want his dirty hands would
to offend his sweetheart.

Landport and Hampshire Terraces were walked in silence, each just happy
in the others company, as they enjoyed the clear sunny day, and
the crisp autumn air. On passing the church on Saint Michaels
they struck up a conversation about Reverend Wests sermon that
morning, both concluding, at the gates of the park, that it had been
an enlightening topic, but delivered without enthusiasm.

They meandered along the paths, past the fountain, towards the Aviary.
Wrens, robins, pigeons, larks and doves  all native birds that
could rarely be seen this deep into the city  preened themselves
and fluttered about in the branches of the small trees planted for them.
A fine net was hung over them and stretched to the ground, to keep the
birds in a constant place for observation.